


Koronázás

by fairywine



Series: aushunweek2018 [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, aushunweek2018, historical fic, hungarian history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15731550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/pseuds/fairywine
Summary: A coronation is a sacred thing, the first ever coronation of Hungary's king even more so. Kingdom-hood is a important honor, but one Hungary is ready for. Handling whatever Austria is trying will be nothing. Hungary's sure of it. (AusHun Week 2018, prompt: childhood)





	Koronázás

**Author's Note:**

> December 25th, 1000 CE, Székesfehérvár. In which Hungary (who is still very much under the impression she's a boy), does her best to make King István's coronation a smooth process, and fears not any squinty Austrian menaces.

Amidst the flickering torchlight and haze of incense, the stone walls of the late Prince Géza’s proud castle in Székesfehérvár acquire an otherworldly glow. The assembly of nobles, priests, and other important figures watch on with the baited quiet of those witness to a once-in-a-lifetime event. Even the outside world seems to be taking note, the December snow falling in a thick whisper of flakes to blanket the frozen ground. It is fitting for an occasion such as this, Hungary thinks, a moment sanctioned by the greatest powers on earth and by God Himself.

The coronation of the Grand Prince István as the first King of Hungary, and his own ascension from principality to full kingdom. Once again, Hungary lifts his gaze to the bearded visage of István though it is not the easiest task. For even kneeling the soon to be King has considerable height over the body of what appeared to be a five-year-old boy. It’s been a motion Hungary has been repeatedly falling into over the course of the ceremony. The moment the land takes his eyes off the prince and his attention away from the archbishop’s droning Latin, nerves hit like the Magyar tribesmen in a single charge.

Hungary shifts awkwardly, trying to keep the motion as subtle as he can. For all that’s even possible with all eyes upon himself and István, probing for the tiniest hint of weakness and doubt. The finery of his elaborately embroidered tunic and hose feel like fraud, the mink trim a flimsy shield. A necklace of gold and ruby sits heavily on Hungary’s narrow shoulders – a coronation gift from Pope Sylvester II– but somehow feels far less real than the faithful sword belted at his side. Hungary’s fingers brush against the hilt, the familiar weight a far greater bolster to his courage than any of the opulence on display.

Kingdom-hood _is_ worthy of celebration, of pride. Hungary needs no reminder of that, how his strong people carved out their own space in the world. How they had been given the respect due to such a great feat. It just feels so far removed from nights under the stars, the earthy smell of horses, the wind rushing against his face. Gazing at the boundless planes and his heart feeling as free and limitless as the sky.

Hungary looks away from István, knowing he’s already been staring for far longer than is seemly, and skims the crowd instead. From his position at the altar, to the right of both István and the archbishop, it’s easy enough. Easy, perhaps, but not necessarily the wisest choice. As Hungary looks from the youthful yet dignified face of István’s wife Gisela and her ladies, to the representatives of European powers, the ball of ice in his stomach grows colder and heavier. It takes a powerful effort to not clench his fists, to not bare his jangling nerves to those who must not see them. Keeping everything contained has never been Hungary‘s way, not like that little wimp–

 _Austria_? Distracted at least for the moment from his anxiety, Hungary blinks once, then twice. But no, neither his eyes nor the incense smoke had deceived him. Right beside one of his Margrave’s sons– Adalbert, Hungary thinks – totally undeserved look of self importance offset even more by the fact he clearly had to squint to see the proceedings.

Well. Hungary isn’t sure how he’d missed Austria when all the formal introductions happened, but something about seeing his dumb face let the nerves drain away.  Replacing it is the much sweeter sensation of nostalgia over all the times Hungary had sent him crying back to Schwyz after a good thrashing. So proud and pretty despite it all.

It certainly makes things slide into perspective for Hungary. Only a little bit older than haughty little _Ostarrîchi_ , and yet look who’s standing here as a full Kingdom versus a mere Margraviate?

...almost a full kingdom, specifically. Feeling a lot calmer, Hungary glances back at the archbishop, who actually seems to be getting to the end of things. Schooling his expression into something more suiting the solemnity of the occasion, Hungary’s heart races even as he holds his breath, so close to the next step in his rise.

With a steady hand the archbishop anoints István with the consecrated oil, signing the holy cross over his head. The grouping of priests behind the archbishop bring forth the sacred raiments, draping the coronation mantle over István’s broad shoulders, and pressing a sword into his hands. After more chanting they’re replaced with royal sceptre and orb.  One last round of Latin vows and a final priest waiting to the archbishop’s left brings forth a golden crown studded with bright gemstones, resting atop a silken cushion. Carefully holding up the crown, the archbishop places it upon the now-king’s head.

As soon as the intonation “ _Stephanus, Hungarie rex_ ” falls from the archbishop’s lips the entire throne room seems to exhale as one.  His stature has not changed in the slightest in the moment he shifts from principality to kingdom, but Hungary feels big enough to fill up the castle now-no, big enough to stretch to the very edges of his borders and beyond. There’s no way he can keep his smile down now, and doesn’t even bother trying as King István makes his royal vows to the land and God, by Whose will he rules.

Gisela then rises to be formally crowned as Queen. As Hungary watches her stately walk to her husband’s side, he glimpses Austria once more out of the corner of his eye-still squinting.  It’s bad of him, he knows, but Hungary still can’t help but send his western neighbor a cheeky grin. One that Austria definitely sees if his disgruntled look is any indication.

It’s Hungary’s day, so he lets himself savor it, sweet as honey fresh from the comb. Just for a moment, before turning his attention back to the nearly finished coronation ceremony. _The Kingdom of Hungary_. If there are any words more perfect, more beautiful-he certainly couldn’t name them.

* * *

 

The massive banquet feast laid out in the great hall of the castle is much more Hungary’s element than the pomp of the coronation. Not that it isn’t still very grand, quite literally a meal fit for a king. Huge and sturdy as the long wooden tables are, they’re still so loaded with dish after opulent dish Hungary isn’t sure how they aren’t groaning under the weight. There are several whole roasted boars to be seen, huge slabs of venison and pitchers so heavy with sauce they have to be lifted with two hands.  More plump winter sausages than Hungary can count, and wheel after wheel of gold and white cheeses to keep them company.

Of course there’s bread, black, rich, and so plentiful one could probably build a small fortress out of all the loaves. Hot, hearty soups and stews in tureens large enough that Hungary could have used one of them for a personal bathtub. For all the goblets at the feast being constantly refilled, the lake’s worth of wine on hand seems more than enough to meet the endless demand.

But the sweets- _oh_ , the sweets. Jellies, jewel bright against the snowy softness of the cream puddings. Sweetmeats glazed to shiny perfection. And best of all, the candied fruits, brought up all the way from Italy. Sparkling in white sugar like diamond dust, they bring a taste of summer’s bounty even in the winter’s cold. Hungary has already had enough that he’s probably going to have a stomach ache later, but it’ll be endured with no regrets.

The temptation proves too much for Hungary, who helps himself to another slice of candied orange despite already being so very full. Lazily, the Magyar Kingdom takes in the sweet, crunchy, chewiness of his treat while the noise of the festivities washes over him. The feasting has been going on for a while now, and once all the formal acknowledgments were finished there wasn’t anything much for him to do. The food and warmth of the hall-fireplaces roaring like lions and benches packed with people-is making him groggy.  Even the lively music of the minstrels isn’t enough to make Hungary feel more energetic.

Stifling a yawn, Hungary idly scans the feasting guests.  At the high table with King István and Queen Gisela, the whole hall is open to his sight. Even amidst the throng of nobles, clergy, and servants, his neighbors are easy to spot. Bohemia’s usual prissy expression gets even funnier when she looks Hungary’s way and makes a face like she bit right into a lemon.

 _Still sore about Morava and Nitra, princess?_ Hungary snickers, although the thought does remind his Slav regions are in serious need of new name. Uplands, maybe. Hungary imagines telling Bohemia this, and following with the proposal that she join his house too if she misses them so much. It’s only by a minor miracle he manages to keep from laughing aloud, and Queen Gisela gives Hungary a quizzical glance before returning her attention to her husband the king.

Bohemia’s eyes narrow like she knows Hungary’s amused at her expense. But the little blonde boy next to her-so small the top of his head is barely visible over the edge of the table-tugs at her sleeve. Distracted, Bohemia passes him a few more chunks of boar along with bread, cutting it into manageable pieces with her knife. She stops abruptly, Poland evidently making a comment that gets Bohemia’s attention from his place at the next table over.  Whatever Poland says, it earns the Baltic realm a glare of such venom Hungary is surprised he doesn’t keel over into his gulyás. The tot plantitively tries to get Bohemia’s help again, but remains as forgotten to her as Hungary in the face of her enmity towards Poland.

And this little thing wants to call himself the new Roman Empire? Please, one German state making undeserved airs about itself is already more than enough, Hungary thinks. Definitely a more accurate title is called for here.

All these thoughts of overly uppity Germans makes Hungary seek out the tables where Austria and his nobles wound up. As expected, he’s nibbling at a splendid piece of carp with wall the enthusiasm of biting into a old cabbage. This is insulting enough, but the feeling rises into real alarm when Austria looks both ways before slipping down from the bench. His nobility are well into their cups by this point, and probably wouldn’t notice an entire Magyar raiding party bursting in.  The hustle and noise of the great hall in general means nobody pays Austria any mind as he sidles out.

No one besides Hungary, that is. Taking the leap from his own seat, Hungary makes his own unobtrusive exit. It’s lucky no one really felt the need to pay him any mind once all the well-wishing was complete. Especially since Hungary doubts he could have managed the appropriate level of courtesy after this slight. If Austria is planning something- _at his king’s coronation festivities_ -Hungary will unleash a fury that will make his kalandozások years of raiding and conquest seem but a drop in comparison.

It’s easy enough for Hungary to each up with Austria, whose walking pace is slow as his face is so, so _dumb_. The random seeming path his western neighbor takes, picking doors and halls to go through with no apparent destination in mind just makes things look all the more suspicious. Hungary’s temper has always been dry kindling, easy to ignite with the right fuel. Indeed, his anger is blazing hot by the time his hand grabs Austria’s soft arm and stops him in his tracks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Hungary growls, slamming Austria into the wall. The other boy hits the grey stone with a grunt, but still manages to direct violet eyes into the most vicious glare he can muster. At least at this distance Austria stops squinting.

“Let go of me, you-you _barbarian!_ ” Austria says in a tone that aims for icily affronted dignity but falls closer to winded gasping. “How dare you treat a guest like this?”

“How dare a guest _act_ in such a way when he’s been invited in good faith?” Hungary gives him another good shake till he can practically hear Austria’s teeth rattle in his pretty, useless skull. “On the King’s coronation day, on _Christmas_!”

“Act in such a way?” Austria repeats, the proud little lordling even with the words coming out in a hard pant. “I just wanted to…”

The margraviate loses his imperious look, voice trailing off into embarrassed silence and face going red. Puzzled, Hungary still holds his grip fast until realization dawns. Then there’s enough embarrassment to go around.

“If you need to piss, the privies are just through that passage,” Hungary begins. He doesn’t care so much about _that_ -just his short temper almost tumbling his hours-old kingdom into potential conflict on a snap judgement. “And then-”

“ _No_!” Austria practically yelps as Hungary lets go of him. Unbalanced, he falls in a ungainly heap on the floor. Hungary catches the tail end of a oath he didn’t imagine his neighbor had the balls to actually say. That and Austria dusting himself off with ill-humor does a lot to restore Hungary’s good one. “I just wished to go outside for some fresh air.”

A long, drawn out silence follows this statement.

“It was stuffy in there,” Austria adds defensively in response to Hungary’s disbelieving expression.

“And you were wandering around like that because you were lost,” Hungary sighs. _That_ trait of Austria’s is one he’s already become familiar with. “Come on, then.”

Hungary grabs Austria’s hand and it surprises him. The palm is soft, but not entirely uncalloused, and pleasantly warm. This close he can smell Austria, skin mixed with rosemary soap and a touch of edelweiss. For some mad reason, Hungary’s heart does a weird lurch in his chest, swimming in a emotion he couldn’t pin down even if he wanted to.

Feeling his cheeks redden far beyond what’s remotely acceptable concerning dumb western margraviates, Hungary turns and tugs Austria along with probably more force than necessary. Other than a startled squeak Austria doesn’t protest, and in the time it takes their small bodies to navigate to the castle’s entrance, the heat in Hungary’s face has faded away.

No castle is ever completely silent, but it’s about as quiet out as it ever gets. The guards are a lot more sparse than normal, and even without the rights of a Nation Hungary would know most had nipped on inside for a little private celebrating. He doesn’t really mind, their joy of flasks and fellow soldiers toasting the new king as infectious-more so, really-than the highborn guests in the great hall. There’s something nice about the quiet and the snow blanketing the grounds. Even if Hungary does have to share it with Austria.

The waning moon above is at its thinnest, a sliver hanging in the midnight sky. But the winter’s snow is so pure and white even that faint light is enough for Hungary to see Austria decently. He’s staring out in an unfocused way, mind elsewhere. It’s something Hungary has always found strangely fascinating about him, the way Austria could retreat into his own head and examine the world at a distance.

Not that such a quality makes Austria any less of a crap fighter who has a too-inflated opinion of himself. With a dumb, squinting prone face. And pretty violet eyes- _ugh._ Resisting the urge to slap himself, Hungary gives Austria a solid thwap on the arm instead. He pulls it, of course, but Austria still makes a big show of rubbing at the spot. Whimp.

“Fresh enough for you?” Hungary asks pointedly.

Austria shoots Hungary what he thinks is an imposing look, but says nothing. Breathing in the cool, crisp air, his stiff lord’s face relaxes by degrees to a more serene, settled one. The difference ‘imperiously constipated’ to ‘actually approachable calm’ makes is a noticable one. Hungary’s chest does that weird thump-lurch again, and he pounds on it to show the thing it needs to stop. It doesn’t work, needless to say.

Hungary does have to admit, it feels nice to get away from indoors. In their finery, neither he nor Austria are dressed warmly enough to face the December cold for any length of time. But for now the outdoors feels like a cold bath after a fever, revitalizing and clean. It’s worth being a little too cold for comfort, at least for now.

“How does it feel, then?” Austria speaks up suddenly, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence. “To be a full kingdom?”

“Bigger,” Hungary says, startled into honesty. He stares down at his hands-small ones, child’s ones-yet enough to hold everything from the the Carpathians to the Great Plain to the Danube. Countless lives rest under his skin, speaking many languages, from the king himself to the poorest peasant. Hungary can feel every birth, every death, every plant and animal. It’s almost too much to handle. But it is to the kingdom it all belongs, and _he_ is the kingdom. “Like me before, but...more.”

Austria absorbs this in his usual way, thoughtfully but otherwise showing nothing.

“If you’re aiming to be a full kingdom, I wouldn’t mind give you advice,” Hungary says with bravado that’s about half genuine. To be so forthright with _Austria_ of all people scraped him a little too rawly inside. “I mean, you’ll have to get Bavaria’s permission and it’ll probably take you forever.”

“My goals are not so small,” Austria says, more heatedly than Hungary knew he had in him. “I’m going to be a great empire! The greatest empire in Europe.”

Hungary just gapes at Austria in response. Outrageous, that a little nothing of a hanger-on to Bavaria has the nerve to such lofty ambitions.  To have a bearing like he’s already earned the right to dream so hugely. A margraviate-not even a duchy! In all his days Hungary has never heard anything so wild. Never imagined staid, weak Austria had it in him.

“That’ll never happen!” Hungary shoots back. “You’ll never be able to get that powerful the way you are now. I bet you’ll live in _my_ house before you’d ever become a great empire-”

The snowball hits Hungary square in the face, bursting into clumps of cold, wet flakes upon impact. Disbelieving, he wipes at his eyes to see Austria already gripping another in his hand, arm stretched back like he isn’t sure whether to throw it or not. Certainly Austria’s face, half-defiant, half-shocked at his own rashness, does nothing to clarify his intent.

Well, that tears it. Yelling fiercely, Hungary quickly scoops snow into his hands, balling it up and launching it as hard as he can at Austria. The margraviate stumbles at the force when the snowball hits him in the chest, but does not fall.

From there, the Great Snowball Battle of Székesfehérvár commences. Hungary and Austria race around the castle courtyard endlessly, lobbying their icy missiles at each other with all the manic fervor of berserkers. Including about as much precision, for even after about half an hour the both of them are only lightly dusted in snow. Hungary’s bare hands are reddened from the chill and the frost, but the lightness he feels makes it seem not so bad.

Fun is one thing, but _winning_ is entirely another. Austria had kept pace with him better than Hungary predicted, but his throws are getting slower and weaker. It’s enough to make a plan come together in his head. The kingdom shrugs off the snowball Austria aims at his shoulder and prepares for a change of tactics.

Hungary runs right at Austria, pelting him with the last snowball in his hand. As soon as it meets its target, Austria’s eyes close reflexively. Seeing his chance, Hungary leaps forward and tackles Austria before he can finish forming his own projectile. The two of them roll some ways before Hungary manages to pin him to the ground.

“Yield!” Hungary crows triumphantly, grinning down at his fallen foe. Austria tries to wiggle out of the hold, but there’s no leverage available to him. “Yield, and my terms of victory will be generous.”

Pointedly, Hungary scoops up a handful of snow and holds it right above Austria’s dark head as an example of what _lack_ of generosity will entail. To Austria’s credit, he still tries to throw Hungary off before the fight leaves his body.

“Fine, you barbarian,” Austria says, the insult more sulky than anything hurtful. Hungary magnanimously decides to let it go like the gracious conqueror he is. Dropping the snow from his hand, he rolls off Austria to flop next to him on the ground. Hungary can feel the cold seeping into his clothes, but for now all the moving around keeps him warm enough.

“I may be a barbarian, but at least I’m a barbarian _kingdom_ and not a margraviate who thinks he’s the next Rome.”

“I know I’m not right now,” Austria says. “But I can be. By doing things my way.”

There’s a kind of utter certainty in Austria’s voice, one that doesn’t stem from any kind of madness. He really thinks it can be done, rationally so, and the notion rattles Hungary more than he’d ever prefer to own. He peers at Austria, who gazes out at the sky like he thinks he can put his banners on that too, one day.

Hungary never dreamed Austria had such grand plans. Or that he’d actually feel wary about it.  Fine. He’s slapped Austria down before, he can do it again if he needs to.

“We’ll see. I beat you to being a kingdom, so who knows who will make it to an empire first?”

Austria actually snorts a little in laugher, before stretching out a hand to Hungary. Grabbing Austria’s frigid hand in his own, they shake on it.

“To empires,” Austria says, steel in his eyes.

“To kingdoms,” Hungary replies as firmly, before pulling the two of them to their feet. It’s too cold to stay out any longer, and the rest of the coronation feast to attend to. And after that, well...the matter is in Providence’s hands. There’s no more two children in the snow can do but walk into the castle and the future, hopes burning inside like bonfires.

* * *

Hungary’s at the special stage in a young boy-who-is-really-a-girl’s life where her feelings toward Austria are a mixture of wanting to impress him, beat him up, thinking he has the dumbest dumb face to ever dumb, and kinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnddddddd of wanting to cuddle him just the tiniest bit???? Except not because gross, Austria. And who cares how pretty his eyes are? Pfft. Not Hungary.

I have to say, working on these challenges for AusHun Week 2018 has really given me a whole new appreciation for Austria I didn’t have before. I think the most fundamental part of his character, the one that let this little _nothing_ of a Margraviate sandwiched between the much more powerful Bavaria and Medieval Hungary, is that when the time comes for it he’s got a spine of pure steel. And he utterly owns his ambitions, and how his means to achieve them are so unlike what’s expected of Nations.

Some notes because ~Learning is Fun~:

The coronation of István/Stephen/Saint Stephen marked the transition of Hungary from a principality to a full Christian kingdom, recognized by the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor. (Although how much say they ultimately had in this shift is a subject of much debate). The exact date of the coronation isn’t known except for it either took place on December 25st 1000 CE or January 1st 1001 CE, in Esztergom or Székesfehérvár. Being the exact location and time weren’t know, I just picked the one I felt most likely.

The coronation ceremony for the Hungarian kings is well documented. The Archbishop of Esztergom crowns the king with the Holy Crown of Hungary in the city of Székesfehérvár, whereupon the king takes the traditional coronation oath. Hungarian history being what it is, the city locale has changed depending on what amount of the kingdom was actually in royal hands at the time. Pozsony/Pressburg/Bratislava was also used for a very long time as well as Buda. The first two conditions, on the other hand, were indispensible. No ruler of Hungary was considered legitimate without the ceremony, crown, and the oath.

However, being this was literally the _very_ first Hungarian royal coronation, the ceremony hadn’t been set yet. The Archbishopric of Esztergom hadn’t even been established until after István was crowned. I wasn’t able to find a lot of specific detail on his coronation other than it was modeled after that of the German kings, so I tried my best and kept things vague where I really wasn’t sure.

Additionally, the Holy Crown of Hungary/the Crown of St Stephen didn’t even exist at this time and wasn’t made until over thirty years after his death. The mantel they have that does date from his reign depicts him wearing an entirely different one. Still my favorite royal crown by a mile, even if the traditional early myths surrounding it are pretty  inaccurate.

Part of the inspiration for coronation of Saint Stephen as my entry for the “childhood” prompt of AusHun Week 2018 is from one of the Hetalia strips where we get an exact year/date: 1000 Years in No Time, about the then-predictions of judgment day around the turn of the millennia. (And which I annoyingly can’t find the original strip for, but it’s in volume 3). Anyway, you see [ Austria and Hungary as very small children ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/hetalia/images/7/7b/EP85.png/revision/latest?cb=20101108120716), and knowing Stephen was crowned that year (possibly) made for an interesting set up.

I’m certain Switzerland fans out there can better expound which of the specific cantons he could originated from (seeing as he wasn’t a unified state at this point), but I went with the [ Canton of Schwyz ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canton_of_Schwyz).

I feel every appearance or mention of Czechia, Slovakia, and Moravia isn’t complete if the author hasn’t spent ten hours debating on which names to use. Czechia isn’t Czechia (in English, that is, obviously in the Czech language it’s always been Čechy/Česko) in my mind until around the revival of Czech nationalism in the Maria Theresa era. Really solidifying after the 1848 Revolutions and completing with the Voltron-like assembly of Bohemia, Moravia, and Czech Silesia in 1918. Until then, I think Bohemia is just more historically fitting? Sorry, Czech fans, I’m trying my best with this failing of English in regards to your homeland.

Slovakia was never an distinctly autonomous state until the dissolution of Austria-Hungary, and any historical reference by that name is more in the region sense than the nation sense. (Kind of like “the Ukraine” versus “Ukraine”). But from what research I’ve done, I think he started as the [ Principality of Nitra ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Principality_of_Nitra) before being incorporated into the Kingdom of Hungary. (Along with Morava/Moravia, which Bohemia/Czechia eventually managed to reclaim from the Magyars). The Slovak region of Hungary was called Felső-Magyarország or Upper Hungary, starting around the 16th century (and was phrased similarly in Latin before that). The term “Slovensko” has its earliest written appearance in the 15th century, but no legal or political status.

Around this time and quite a few years after Poland (not yet a kingdom but instead a ducal state called “[ Civitas Schinesghe ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Civitas_Schinesghe) ”) [ invaded Bohemia so often ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boles%C5%82aw_I_the_Brave#Congress_of_Gniezno_and_its_aftermath_\(999%E2%80%931002\)) I’m surprised he didn’t have a revolving door installed for greater convenience. I’d be pissed too if I were her.

Poor ignored Holy Roman Empire. (Who didn’t get the “Holy” part until 1254, btw). If Austria and Hungary were so young, I imagine he was still practically a toddler at this point.

[ Kalandozások ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungarian_invasions_of_Europe)-The fact that Hungary refers to her “scourge of God, please someone save us from the Magyars” period as “adventures” kind of doesn’t do the time justice. Just my humble opinion.

 


End file.
